


Beneath

by Englass



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: A bit of fluff/comfort, Bunker, Gen, Implied Possessive Behavior, Resist Ending, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englass/pseuds/Englass
Summary: Even with the world burning, the waters poisoned and the land made barren, Rook still can’t quite bring herself to think about it all.





	Beneath

Even with the world burning, the waters poisoned and the land made barren, Rook still can’t quite bring herself to think about it all. To really digest and make sense of it. Stuck in a numbing stupor her thoughts have run wild, fleeing like the dying life above and hiding themselves away in the deepest chasms of her heart and skull, escaping from a collapsed reality and leaving a yawning void. In a way her head is so empty, gears groaning like sleeping giants before falling still once more, that she can’t help but wonder if she even cares anymore.

It’s all such a mess, and she doesn’t even have anyone to blame for it. It was just unfortunate timing. That is all she can draw it down to; just very unfortunate timing. That didn’t mean that she, nor anyone else for that matter, was off the hook though. Everyone played a part in this TV drama movie. It wasn’t just her that lead them to this moment and for Joseph to say that it was – well, it showed a lack of responsibility on his part. 

She may have been the catalyst, the switch that signalled the coming of the end, but what he forgets is that it was his – his family and his followers – actions that drew them all here in the first place. Although, not being one to shirk the blame, Rook knews she should have handled things differently. If she had actually had a voice instead of sitting back and letting others make the decisions for her maybe things would have been different. Maybe she would have actually done her job and arrested them instead of kill them all in cold blood.

Joseph has every right to be angry, to be brimming with a rage as raw and catastrophic as God’s own righteous fury. And with the way he had gotten right into her face – lips pulled back into a vicious snarl as his eyes bled a deep and unfathomable hate, fingers coiled tight around her throat as if he intended to snap it with sheer force alone – she was surprised he hadn’t throttled her then and there.

Although, you could always argue that what came next was worse. 

It’s been what feels like weeks since she was dragged down here, dead weight slung like a bag of potatoes over Joseph’s shoulder (at least she assumes she was from what snippets of the crash and aftermath she actually remembers), and things haven’t exactly gotten better. That disturbingly human mania, twisted and gnarled as it is, still hasn’t left his eyes. It wavers in its intensity at times, looking somewhere she can’t and doesn’t want to see. Shimmering with the transparency of a mirage; never giving way to the sweet oasis that’ll give you hope for the long journey ahead.

At this point she’s near certain she’s going to rot under the desert sun. She holds no hope of finding even a cactus to drink from. It’s all too bare, heavy and stuffy, and despite his words he is not helping matters in the slightest. Last time she checked you don’t keep your child – as he so affectionately refers to her as now – cuffed to the frame of a bed and dictate to them everything they can and can’t do like some mentally unhinged control freak. And yes, she knows that’s practically his modus operandi now, but that’s not the point. It doesn’t make it right.

Saying that though two wrongs also don’t make a right, and she’s not exactly been the best company either. Not that she was before the bombs dropped anyway, she’s always been a bit of a recluse. Unsociable some would say. Sticking to her own thoughts and feelings like a fly caught on sticky paper instead of openly sharing them with others, never wanting to chance even the slightest risk of judgment that may fall upon her. 

She supposed it has something to do with her upbringing, well-mannered and a tad traditional as it was. Always told not to speak when others or her elders were already doing so. Although that did lead her to her favourite teaching, and one she’d practically grown to live by if her verbal restraint was anything to go off of; ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all’.

No wonder she kept her mouth shut during the whole cult fiasco, especially when it came to the Seeds. If she had opened her mouth she knows she would’ve eventually gotten comfortable, and that would’ve been very risky and very stupid. She tended to get overly sarcastic at times and, with how the Seeds irritated her so, she knows for a fact that her sarcasm would not have been appreciated. Even now she hears it sassing back like a prissy teen every now and again. It’s almost a good thing that her voice has gone on strike against Joseph. Although, how long that will last she cannot say.

It’s the only thing he seems to do nowadays, along with pottering about doing whatever it is he does down here, and it is honestly starting to get on her last nerve. She’s a patient girl, relatively, but when a mad cult leader off his rocker doesn’t stop badgering for your attention – the slightest glance, the smallest sound or subtlest contact – they’re going to get on your last nerves pretty quickly. Especially when it’s every hour of the bloody day. Lord, does this man not sleep?!

Every time she’s woken up since coming down here he has been there, watching with an unnervingly relieved and adoring smile. Eyes wide like she’s some holy artefact descended from heaven itself, haloed in a golden glow as feathers fall like fresh snow, and he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. It’s not on; it’s really creepy. It doesn’t help that the guy is old enough to be her actual father which... okay, that just makes it even stranger.

Bizarrely enough though despite how much she tries and even makes a show of it – huffing with budding tears of frustrated desperation as her tongue falls flat, mouth floundering like a fish out of water – she finds herself incapable of muttering even the breath of a word, let alone stringing an actual sentence together. She‘s not completely sure what’s caused it. It could be fear, but that doesn’t seem right. Are her thoughts so jumbled and muddy that it’s affecting her speech? Possibly. Whatever the reason is it’s infuriating. A cold, burning sort of infuriating.

Wrath was never her sin, she was certainly more a sloth than any other deadly sin out there, but she’s actually starting to question if maybe John was on to something. 

The biggest problem she faces however, other than her sudden lack of vocality, is time. And with it Joseph’s patience. It turns out she’s going to have to spend seven sodding years down here with the fella. That’s seven long boring years of nothing! She can’t keep a grudge that long it’d be exhausting, especially since she’s having to live with him. And as much as she secretly enjoys the attention he gives her she doesn’t quite know if she can stay like this – handcuffed – for that amount of time. Her hands will fall off well before then if this keeps up. Or maybe that’s what he’s counting on...

Plus there’s the whole food and water situation. It’s all just a mess; they’ve not even planned how this is going to work. Joseph might have been prepared for the collapse since before Rook was born, but she doesn’t have a damn clue- and she’s having to live through it now. It sucks that she has to rely on him to hold her hand through the whole freaking thing. Which he does actually; he seems to enjoy brushing over her fingers with his own, strangely fascinated by how soft they are despite everything she’s done.

... It’s a very awkward setup they have, she must admit.

And it seems today won’t be too different.

Joseph is kneeling in front of her, palm sweetly cradling her cheek with his thumb hooked under her jaw. A small display of control that has her angled towards him, gaze focused on the placid lake of blue that is his eyes. They’re calm today, she notices, free from the writhing shadows that accompany them during his bouts of mania. A wicked thing all its own that slithers over her with a sickly slime, an invisible claim that has her insides churning. Yes, thankfully she’s free from that sensation for the moment. Hopefully it will last the rest of the day (night?).

With a slow and easy motion Joseph brings another piece of canned peach to her lips, a content smile that beams with all the warmth of the setting sun. There’s no doubt in Rook’s quiet mind that he’s somewhere close to elated at her compliance. She supposes he expected her to be difficult over all of this, throwing tantrums like a spoiled child used to getting their own way as they resist him at every turn. And while a tiny part of her is tempted to annoy him with silent and insistent nudges she – very plainly put – can’t be bothered. It’s too much work and, although it’s not ideal, she’s trying to look on the bright-side and treat this like a holiday.

A really cheap and pride crushing holiday, but a holiday all the same. She’s done with the destruction, with the death; with the doubt in her actions. If this is her purgatory, then so be it. She is done with the misery.

With the slightest breath of hesitancy, her pride quaking in shame at how degrading this will forever be, she softly takes the slice of peach from his sticky fingers between her teeth (because of course he insisted on hand feeding her like an ill dog), making a conscious effort to not get too close to said sticky fingers of his.

She would rather not have a repeat of one of the first times he hand-fed her thank you very much; once was more than enough.

Still, despite his often times questionable and uncomfortable actions and mannerisms, he’s not all that bad to live with. Clingy and with absolutely no shame or regard for personal space, certainly, but it’s not unbearable. If anything, he’s been surprisingly supportive. It’s in the small things after all. The constant physical contact might be uncomfortable, especially for someone who’s actually rather adverse to it like Rook, but it’s grounding. It keeps her from being left too long in her own thoughts, all scratchy and will-chipping, and she is guiltily appreciative of it.

After all, she doesn’t have Boomer anymore. She doesn’t have the comfort and bountiful love that he was always so happy to bless her with. Chasing away her darkening thoughts like he used to chase squirrels. He was her happy-go-lucky boy, always managing to keep her spirits high just by being by her side. She always feared taking him out with her in case something happened, in case he got hurt or worse, but she never could bring herself to leave him behind. She could never abandon such a gorgeous boy.

And then she did.

The one time she leaves him behind, safe with Kim and Nick, promising him with tears in her eyes and peppered kisses that she’ll come back for him – she’ll always come back for her good boy, she doesn’t. She’ll never see those gorgeous brown eyes of his again. She’ll never get to run her hands through his tricoloured fur, give him belly-rubs or talk to him in that silly baby voice of hers ever again. He was her good boy, her best boy; her precious, precious boy. And she’ll never see him again...

Rook flinches slightly, looking up at her older and less-willing companion as his hand fully cups her cheek. Joseph looks at her with concern, eyes flicking back forth between her own as he soothes her with a quiet question and gentle strokes to her cheek. Rook simply stares at him, a silent question of her own in her confused expression. Then she feels it, the familiar sting of tears within her eyes and the wet tracks that stain her cheeks beneath Joseph’s palm.

Oh. A spark of realisation rushes her like a live circuit. Emotions that had vanished in a subconscious bid at self-preservation are now there, out in the open like a freshly infected wound. Vying desperately for her attention, and she can’t ignore them.

She flounders, hysteria choking her breath as she stutters around a new wave of tears, an apology catching on the water in her voice. Joseph jumps to comfort her, cradling her close like a father would his little girl, hand slotting around the back her neck like a puzzle piece as he pulls her into the crook of his neck. Gently he shushes her, rubbing small patterns into her back as he presses her further up against him, allowing his body to act as her sole support and comfort.

As much as he wants to pull her ever closer, ease her into his lap and smother her in the love that he can give her, let her arms wrap around him as his arms do for her, he’s aware of the odd angle that she sits it. The cuffs tinkling at every movement, biting sharply into her slim wrists. There’s a moment of debate, a heavy hesitation that stills him for a moment. But feeling the tears cool against his neck, her chocked breaths and cries warming his skin – the pure vulnerability of the moment –, he throws his inhibitions to the wayside.

His need for her to be comfortable during such an emotional (promising) moment vastly outweighs the concerns he may have.

The once feared deputy, so caught up in the swell of her repressed emotions, does not notice when the cuffs fall free from her wrists. All she knows is that she can now reach for him. Blindly seeking out the comfort and support she knows Joseph will willing give to her, fingers digging desperately into his back as she buries herself deeper into him. She knows she must look pathetic, like a distressed child that’s weak and scared of everything around them, but she just can’t bring herself to care. In turn Joseph wordlessly concedes to her silent demand, taking her fully into his hold without question; bundling her into his chest as her cries turn from suppressed sobs into heartbroken wails.

She was wrong; she didn’t know. She let them all down. She let her precious boy down...

What feels like hours pass before her cries subside into exhausted hiccups, iron grip that’s left reddened imprints on Joseph’s skin now lax and weakened by the emotional drain. Joseph for his part hasn’t moved since he pulled her into his lap, cradling her close and carding his fingers through her hair as he hummed a familiar tune. His knees and legs ache from their position underneath her, her full weight straddling him against the wall from where he’d swapped their positions. But even with the warning of an on-setting cramp he doesn’t move her. Within his possessive embrace he only pulls her closer, shifting ever so slightly as to not to disturb her. Breathing her in with the faintest of shudders as he lays a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

“Everything will be okay, my child,” Joseph murmurs soothingly, “I’m here. Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. I‘m here. I’ll always be here...”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m probably gonna start importing all my work from Tumblr over here, so be on the look out!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
